Harry Potter: Child of Spawn
by ParagonAtlas
Summary: AU HP/Spawn What if Spawn felt a pulse of dark magic in Britain? What if Harry Potter was trained to face his fate with his head held high and a smirk on his face?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Spawn belongs to Todd McFarlane. If I owned these things, then I wouldn't be writing this.

Authors Note: I've read allot of fan fiction on this site, and I've finally decided to write one. This will be a Harry Potter/Spawn crossover. This story actually came to me in the shower this morning and hasn't left my head. I hope you like it. Pairing are undecided and I will probably let you, the readers, decide this one. Be forewarned, there will be some slight Dumbledore and Ron bashing. No Dumbledore isn't an evil controlling old man, but he will be slightly manipulative. And no, Ron isn't being paid to be his friend or anything of the sort. I'm not saying that Ron is a bad guy, after all he was Harry's best friend in cannon. But he dragged Harry down to mediocrity in the books and that's a bad thing. I should know, I had a similar friend that dragged me down. And let me tell you, it fucks you up later in life. So without further ado, here you are

My names Al Simmons. Call me Al, or Spawn or whatever else you want to. Right now I'm in Britain. You might be asking yourself, "What the fuck is he doin' in Britain?" I'll tell ya. There's somethin' in the air tonight. Somethin' heavy. Somethin' **Dark. **

That's what I'm doin' in Britain. This darkness, it calls to me. I can sense it. There's some shit going down toninght, and I'm here to see exactly how it does. I came to Godric's Hollow in the dead of night. Not a single thing movin' on All Hallows Eve. It's as if the animals can sense what's goin' on. A scream and a boom tears through the night at a single house. I make my way towards it and I step inside the front door.

A single body is dead on the ground. There's not a fucking mark on him. I'm good, but even I leave some kind of mark behind. I sense the darkness focused on the second level, so I make my way upstairs. In a small room, a baby room from the looks of things, I find another body. A woman with long red hair. Her eyes are wide open and there is an expression of fear planted on her face. I first think it's for herself.

That is, until I see the baby. It's just laying there in the crib eyes wide open and staring directly at me. Those eyes, the same glowing green of my eyes. I stride over to the crib and look down, narrowing my eyes at this small baby.

There's a cut on his head, red and pulsing, leaking with dark magic. I look down and to my left to see a black robe and a wand lying on the ground. The items fairly reek of the same dark magic on the boys head. I look back at the child and feel something. Not any kind of parental affection. No, nothing like that. What I feel is swirling around the boy, protecting him. I see it now with my hellspawn magic. This boy has been marked by fate. My eyes widen in recognition. I know what it is to face a fate that is forced upon you.

I reach down with a clawed hand towards the child. He just stares at me, reaching out with his small chubby arms. I pick him up and hold him close to myself. I look down at this child of fate, and I promise to myself and to the boy.

"I'll train you. I'll teach you how to protect yourself and your allies. How to kill your enemies. I'll teach you how to face your fate with your head held high and a smirk on your face. You will survive child, and your enemies, well your enemies will fear to say your name when your done with them."

I pick up the wand lying on the ground and slip it into the chain at my waist. I head around the house with the child in my arms, looking for anything else we might need. I find a small library. I smile a dark smile at the magic swirling around the books. These will be useful, after all, knowledge is power. I throw out my arm and gather my magic. It focuses and brightens, sending a feeling of power coursing through my veins. I clench my fist and all of the books vanish, sent into a pocket dimension to be accessed later. I look around for anything else and see nothing useful.

The child is now asleep in my arms as I make my way outside. My eyes rove around the ground, looking for anything dangerous. There's nothing and I relax minutely. It's time to go home. I gather my magic one more time, the feeling of hell magic spreading through my body. It build and builds, until finally, we vanish.


	2. Chapter 1

**Authors Note:** Alright people a couple more things. First, please excuse the lack of detail and scene setting, as well as the slight cheesiness, of the last chapter. It's been a while since I've written something.

Second, Harry is not going to be god-like or unstoppable. Nor is he going to be an heir to any kind of fortune. That means that all he has access to is that trust fund. I'm not bashing stories that do this; I'm just not doing it.

Third, this story is rated mature for a reason. I'm not going to be putting any kind of extremely graphic sex scenes in this. This isn't smut. But it will have murder, torture, allusions to rape, cussing, graphic deaths, maybe some very light lemons and anything else I feel will add to the grittiness of the story. I'm going to try to make this story as realistic as possible. After all, this is a Spawn crossover. **YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**

Fourth, this story doesn't have any kind of beta. I'm looking for one, but until I find an author that I both enjoy and is in fact beta-ing, I won't have one. If anyone wants to volunteer, PM me and we'll talk.

And finally, I welcome reviews. If there is anything at all you want to say, anything you want to correct, or anything you want to request, either leave a review or PM me. I welcome it all and I won't bitch you out for it. And if I don't give you your request, I will try to give you a reason for it. And now I give you wonderful readers Chapter 1.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The silence of Godric's Hollow is broken by the faint pops of multiple apparitions, signaling the arrival of a motley group of people. At the forefront of this rag-tag group is an old man, draped in royal purple robes patterned with stars and crescent moons. A matching pointed hat is perched on top of his head, long white hair flowing out from under it. Hanging from his face, a long matching white beard, tied of with a silver bit of metal. Hidden behind half-moon spectacles perched on a long nose is a pair of twinkling blue eyes. All in all, this wizened old man cut a rather comical form. But to anyone who knew him, those smiling eyes hid an almost untold amount of power.

Those eyes were staring at the house of Godric's Hollow, tears running down his face. This man was Albus Dumbledore.

"Sweet Merlin, what has happened?" The whispered words cut through the collective silence. The front door was blown off of its hinges, the splinters scattered inside and outside the small two story house, dark magic noticeably covering most of the area. The scent of death was heavy in the air. There was a pregnant pause, and then a tearful howl broke through the night. It almost shattered the hearts of everyone there. The howl came from one Sirius Black, kneeling on the ground in red Auror robe, and tears pouring down his face. His mouth wide open, all he could do was stare in shock and cry.

Suddenly Dumbledore turned on Sirius, his wand drawn and pointed directly at his face. "What have you done Black?" he shouted. There was a collective shiver. No one ever wanted to see that sweet old man angry.

An old matron, by the name of Minerva ___McGonagall stepped forward slowly a questioning look on her face. "What do you mean Headmaster?" _

___There was a slight pause before Dumbledore answered. "Sirius Black was the secret keeper for the Potters." There was a collective gasp and a number of angry mutters. A growl came from a grizzled man covered in scars, a fake shifting blue eye in place of his original left one. He drew his wand and placed it directly at the base of Sirius's skull. _

___ "If he was, then lets just end it for him right here." There was a look of contemplation on their faces, many already considering skipping the trial and going straight to the execution. Sirius slowly came back from his trance, a look of confusion on his face, and then understanding._

___ "Wait! Please wait! I wasn't the secret keeper! Please," he sobbed, "Please…. You have to believe me." There was a look of disbelief on many faces. Thinking about it, it didn't make sense to many of them. Everyone knew Sirius was the Potter's best friends. Why wouldn't he be the secret keeper? Dumbledore stepped forward slowly and lowered his wand. He didn't have to worry, Alastor still had him covered. He stared piercingly into Sirius's eyes, boring directly into his soul. _

___ He seemed to consider for a moment before asking, "If you weren't the secret keeper, then who was?" _

___ He seemed to gather himself for a moment, and then rage contorted his features into a vicious scowl before he spat out, "Pettigrew, it was Pettigrew. Everyone knew I was James best friend, so everyone would believe I was the secret keeper. We switched to Peter because no one would believe that the secret keeper could be anyone __but____ me."_

___ Dumbledore stroked his beard, contemplating this piece of information. "And are you willing to testify under veritaserum?" Sirius nodded his head emphatically and opened his mouth, expecting it immediately. Dumbledore gestured to Moody, who slipped out the vial, roughly wrenched his head back by his hair, and placed three drops of the substance on his tongue. Slowly, a blank look overcame his features signifying the effect of the extremely controlled substance, and Dumbledore began the questioning._

_"__What is your name?"_

_"__Sirius Orion Black III"_

_"__In what year were you born?"_

_"__1959." He droned out in a monotone voice. The control questions complete, they knew that the veritaserum was working._

_"__Are you now or have you ever been a servant of Voldemort?" There was a collective flinch at the name._

_"__No." There was an almost palpable sigh of relief._

_"__Were you the Potters secret keeper?"_

_"__No."_

_"__Who is the secret keeper?"_

_"__Peter Pettigrew." There were many exhales as everyone let out the breath they had been holding. He was telling the truth._

___ "Alastor my friend, please administer the antidote to Sirius." Alastor nodded slightly and this time gently opened his mouth and poured the antidote into it. Eventually, Sirius was back to normal. There was a small silence, and then Sirius asked the one question they had all forgotten to ask._

___ "Where's Harry?" There was a widening of many eyes as the group consisting of Dumbledore, Sirius, McGonagall, Alastor, Shacklebolt and a few other Aurors made a mad dash towards the house. They paused at the doorway to see the body of one James Potter. There were a few sniffles from Sirius and Minerva but they moved on. They rushed upstairs and ran to the baby room, hoping against hope that the small child was still alive. There on the ground was a young Lily Potter, eyes wide open in fear. But alas, there was no baby, only some black robes that might have belonged to any Death Eater. The scent of black magic was the heaviest in the house here. Sirius let out another soulful howl, crying and screaming at the injustices of the world. To lose not only two of his best friends, but his godson as well, was not something he was emotionally capable of handling all at once. _

___ Tears fell from Dumbledore's face as he dropped to his knees. "I have failed them." He sobbed, "I have failed them all." Minerva, usually one to keep up a stern mask, broke down. There was so much wrong with this world. Suddenly there was a flash of white and a small Labrador Patrous came bounding through an open window._

___ "The Longbottoms have been attacked! Come quickly!" It vanished and the message slowly sank into the minds of the grief stricken group. They quickly gathered themselves and ran down the stairs and out towards the edge of the wards, hoping there was not another tragedy waiting for them. When they arrived they expected many things, but complete silence with only a few Aurors gathered around was not one of them. The Aurors on the scene looked grim and determined, simply waiting for backup to move in. After everyone had gathered, they rushed into the large three story house, prepared for almost anything. The one thing they were not prepared for was what they found. Frank and Alice Longbottom on the ground, curled up into the fetal position and mumbling nonsense, and a crying baby with two parallel slashes running from his hairline to just above his left eye. The marks fairly leaked of dark magic. They Aurors spread throughout the house looking for stragglers and survivors while Dumbledore and his group moved towards the family. Dumbledore quickly had Minerva send for the medi-witches while he picked up the bawling child._

___ Dumbledore looked sadly at the baby, and then said something that would rock the foundation of the wizarding world._

___ "I believe that young Neville here has survived the killing curse. I believe that he has defeated Voldemort." There was a flinch and then incomprehension dawned on many faces._

___ "Surly you don't seriously believe that do you Headmaster?" McGonagall asked in an incredulous voice. Dumbledore sighed heavily and answered in the affirmative. There were a few tears and then laughter escaped the mouth of Sirius. Not a happy laughter of joy, but the kind you hear when someone's mind is about to break. Nothing would ever be the same again._

___ In the days that came, many people raised their cups to Neville Longbottom, the boy-who-lived. And the only people who were witness to the act of him getting cursed weren't sane enough to argue otherwise._

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

___**AN:**____ Don't worry, we'll get back to Spawn and Harry in the next chapter, which should come out in a day or two…I hope. _

___I never understood why Dumbledore never went to Godric's Hollow that night and just had Hagrid take care of it. If he did go to the house that night, then it never said. So I wrote my story to fit that in. _

___ I'm not going to make Neville an asshole in this story, so if you did worry, don't. He might be slightly arrogant, but he's not going to be a complete cunt. _

___ If anyone has any advice about writing they want to give me please review. Oh and one final thing, this will not be Slash of any kind. Not bashing it, just a personal preference._


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N—I havn't updated in a while. The spark that started this story was buried beneath other matters of life. Here is an unfinished version of Chapter 2 that I started. I'll try to do better for you all. Im enjoying the ideas that popped into my head for this but I just don't have the time to write like I would like. Enjoy what I have and please comment.**

There is a question that is often asked by philosophers. 'Would you sacrifice one to save a million? A thousand? How about a hundred'? It is question that many find easy to answer; some with a firm no, some with a resounding yes. But few truly realize the moral complications that come with that question. It is never as easily answered as some might believe, whether with the pull of a trigger, or the slash of a knife. It is truly an evil question, as there can never be a right or wrong answer. It is a question that would bring sorrow to everyone involved. Can you truly look upon an innocent and say 'You must die so that many may live'? Can anyone truly cause such suffering upon another soul for the sake of the greater good? The truth of the matter is that no, not many people have the capacity for evil that the greater good requires. Those that do though, are always looked upon with horror and disgust. Always to face the truth of their own actions. That they are truly despicable and not fit to walk the earth. That in the end, they will die for their actions, sooner or later they will suffer the consequences. And always for the sake of the 'Greater Good'.

The greater good is sometimes required, but that is not all there is.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

A cry of pain tears through the silence of the alleyway. Warm blood splatters on the broken walls. A rattle of chain links tears through the screams as a dark metal flashes in the night. With a cry of rage the demon, green eyes flashing, forces his fist through the abdomen of the man before him. His cloak flares out behind him with a life of its own, blending with the shadows and drinking in the sanguine liquid bathing the trash filled corridor. Acting of their own accord, living chains wrap around the flailing limbs of the struggling man. With a violent yank, all four of his limbs are ripped from his body. His shriek, reaching a new plateau not often heard from the human throat, is abruptly silence.

Though not many realize it, a violent death is a very dirty thing. Eyes wide open in shock the dead man's limbs lay scattered on the ground, his bowels violently expelled, mixing in the already horrifying stench filling the alley.

His rage subsiding, heavy breaths shuddering through his body, the emerald eyed creature drops the corpse to the ground. Shoulders heaving as adrenaline courses through his veins, he struggles to control himself. He looking almost apathetically at the corpse in front of him, and thinks back to how his life started.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Lisa Montescue used to be a happy girl. Bright blue eyes staring out from a heart shaped face, all of it framed by long black hair. Some might have called her a pretty girl. Moving out from her parents home, hoping to see some of the world and maybe get a small job in acting, she had much to look forward to in life. Getting beat to death in a dark and filthy alleyway by her drugged up pimp was not what she was expecting when she moved out to the city two years ago.

As the sounds of flesh pounding on flesh echoed through the dank alleyway, something strange occurred. A heaviness settled onto the dark corridor, and all sound stopped. A slightly crazed young man paused in his ministrations and glanced around. Suddenly a green light flashed and a towering man in a blood red cloak, a cloak that seemed to move with a life of its own, appeared. Breaking the silence was a child's pained wails. Completely understandable, after all, being ripped apart molecule by molecule, thrown across almost half the world, and then put back together is not a gentle experience. In fact, some might call it the most painful thing imaginable.

As the child's cries echoed between the buildings, the man in the cloak scowled at the sight before him. Someone was trespassing in his territory. The pimp, who many knew as Jones, glared at the man before him.

"Would you shut the fuckin' kid up ya fuckin' freak!" He screamed at the odd pair. Many would be slightly perturbed at the sight of a man appearing before them out of nowhere, but not many were as strung out on acid and crack as Jones currently was. Spawn merely growled and unleashed his power. Chains of the strongest metals, forged in the hottest of fires, whipped out of his cloak with a life of their own. Speeding forward faster than human eye could follow, they grabbed Jones by his wrists and ankles and hauled him into the air in a vague semblance of a crucifixion. Now Jones was freaking out. This was not his day. But then again, this was a most fitting end to his twisted roller coaster of a life. With no effort, the chains grew taut and pulled on his limbs. Jones screamed out in rage, pain, and frustration at the sight of his oncoming death. As the chains grew tighter, the tone increased in pitch, and then reached the plateau of the human voice. Silence descended as Jones shredded his own voice box.

With a final jerk, his limbs were ripped off his body in a spray of blood and bone. A stench that was only barely worse than the area itself wafted through the alleyway as his bowels were released. The unsupported torso dropped to the ground with a wet thud, his eyes and mouth wide open in shock as liters of the sanguine liquid drenched the ground. With a shuddering sigh his life ended, and no more was heard from Jones the pimp.

Spawn frowned in distaste and shifted the child in his arms to cover his eyes from the sight, his unearthly wail never ending throughout the whole ordeal. Spawn looked down at the scarred and damaged child in his arms and called forth a small spark of his magic. Waving his hands in front of the child's face, he quickly drifted off to sleep. Spawn sighed in relief. This was no sight for a child to see… and his screaming was quickly becoming an annoyance.


End file.
